Moriarty's OTP
by ristiki
Summary: After the fall, somewhat angsty, somewhat fluffy. Humor near the end. Sherlock is weak, John is weaker, Moriarty set it up. Do these two love each other, is it one-sided, or is it non-existant? Read and find out! Please review :) (Note: The title will not make sense until the end.)


**Disclaimer: I am not Moffat. Don't own Sherly and the Gang. 'kay.**

_Please review, darlings!_

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It was nothing like himself to do what he did in that tense moment. Just as I was bidding my final goodbye to him, prepared to go home and shoot myself, he appeared behind me. He held my shoulders tightly as I tried to fight him off, assuming he was a deranged hallucination. He held on for what seemed like hours, not moving or speaking, allowing me the time to grow tired. Once I finally released all of my tension, my limbs froze in repercussion to my resistance against his hold. Expecting this, he held my limp body in his arms, sitting in the soft, misty grass upon "his" grave. Whose it really was I did not know. He laid me down across his lap, eyes locked upon me at all times. It was all too real, seeing him after I witnessed him plunder to his death.

"Who was it?" I asked in a small voice, contrast to the tone I developed over the years as an army doctor. "His name was Gregory Hamish, he'd been meaning to off himself for days. He looked nothing like me, but I used a similar gas to the one found in the forest. With my knowledge of the chemicals used in it, I created a very slight dew that tricked people into seeing me fall to my death. The hitmen were within close enough distance that they were immersed in the dew as well, them being the reason I was to kill myself. I pre-programmed photos into the cameras of my corpse and installed a program, and having installed a system in every newsroom camera and computer to connect to my own devices, I was able to delete all of the photos that news crews were taking of Hamish and the only remaining evidence of the incident was my own work, shots from all angles, matching that of the camera's position almost exactly. I successfully fooled the world into thinking I am a suicidal fraud while neither of those are true." He paused, breathing after his rambling I had always found so fascinating and still did as I laid upon his warm crossed legs, "One is true, I am a fraud. Not in the light of my deductions, but with you, John."

I looked up into his startling blue eyes in confusion. He bore those tired, fidgeting eyes back down into mine, seeming to be for the first time since the day the two had met, at a loss for words. "John, I have been your colleague and friend for months upon months, but that has been a lie ever since you came with me on that first case to find the pink suitcase." I didn't know what he meant, and he pressed onward, "I do not want to be your colleague nor your friend." that stung, "I want to be the one and only thing you think about more than anything else. I want you put me upon a pedestal in your mind. I want you to want me and only me as your true companionship." He stated with conviction, his eyes staring out in the thickening mist, contrasting his airtight, firm words with uncertainty and worry. "You have been all of these things to me since that day, in one way or another. You know that. Why are you telling me you want that from me when you already have it?" I asked, not even trying to understand him in the grogginess I felt from remaining slightly lightheaded.

"John, I know! I know you have, but you don't know who you are to me!" his voice now held a slight quiver as he tried to remain calm and collected as always, leaving me wishing he would just give up the act. I felt a bit better, taking his wrist into my hand gently. Very faded scars from when he was a child stained his porcelain skin ghostly white. I looked into his eyes in a dazed fashion "Tell me who I am to you, then. It's okay." I encouraged in the same small, airy tone as before. "John, you are the only person I can keep my mind on, besides suspects in a case. Even then, you are at the forefront of my mind. I want to keep you close and it made me feel something unusual when I saw your reaction to my supposed death. You ran to me faster than I have ever seen you run, even faster than when we were chasing the cabby by foot. You could not see other people, only who you assumed rightfully was me. You seemed lost." he paused and wearily brought another breath past his obviously shaking lips. "You seemed even more lost than I was in the moment I knew I had to leave you after my 'death.' As you can see, I couldn't leave. Seeing you salute me for the last time, I could not rest in the shadows, saying goodbye. I need you, John. With emotions in play, I can only describe my connection to you as love. I love you."

He blurted out the last words in a nervous slur, but I understood them perfectly. _I love you._ His fist clenched tight and his scars brightened even whiter against his skin. The mist had now become a thick fog that seemed to engulf us, hiding us from the world. I traced his many scars with my index fingertip, feeling so small next to him and the heavy shoulders weighted by pain that he bore. I glanced at him and his eyes were half-lidded, eyelashes brushing his high cheeks. I held a hand up to his cheek, touching his cool face with my warm hand. He shivered and looked to me accusingly, almost as if my touch burned him. "You are very important to me. Seeing you 'die' made me realize how much I wish I could have done and said before the time came so fast. I am going to do and say two of these things, hopefully they will not be taken in the wrong way."

I sat up, feeling confident yet apprehensive. I held both of his marred wrists in my two hands. As I leaned toward him, my hands slipped up his arms to his shoulders, fingers brushing his collar and up to his ever-so-slightly exposed neck. I interlocked my fingers around his neck and tilted my head very slightly, closing the small space between us, pressing my lips against his. My lips lingered softly against his and I didn't know if he was okay with my action. I parted my mouth from his, opening my mouth, forming the words to apologize when he grabbed me fast by the small of my back, pulling my body against his, all the while slipping his tongue into my mouth.

Though I had not imagined he was much of a kisser, he knew how to work his tongue, licking my lips and suckling passionately at my tongue, lacing his passion in his own pain. I knew some of the scars were not so old, burning against his wrists and all I could think about was how much I loved him and needed him to stay alive. I raked my fingers through his unruly black mass of curls and felt him harden against me. He moaned almost childishly and I chuckled against his lips, which made him kiss me even harder, most likely to shut me up. I moaned against his mouth and we snogged for what seemed to be hours. Finally, I broke away, sitting up and brushing his pulsating scars. I looked into his icy blue eyes and found something new I couldn't quite place.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes" I said, squeezing his hands tight between my fingers. "I love you." we both said at the same time, smiling warmly and broken all at once. I knew it would take time for him to stop harming himself, and he knew it would take time for me to stop having nightmares of the fall, but together, we would work to a better time and place where London and its rumors of Sherlock didn't matter any longer, where the two could start off anew in solitude.

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Even Jim Moriarty could not help but revel in the scene of John and Sherlock kissing upon Gregory Hamish's gravestone. After all, he was the one who forced them at the time and place to be together in just the right state to propose their love and passion for one another. Why, all Moriarty ever wanted was for his consulting detective and his army doctor to be together and by pulling some crucial strings in their lives, they each became weak enough to recognize and confess their feelings for one another.

Who knew Moriarty's OTP had been Johnlock all along?


End file.
